


Velvet Burns

by koakuma_tsuri



Category: Cricket RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, KP's hair is a crime, M/M, Rimming, established affair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-25
Updated: 2014-05-25
Packaged: 2018-01-26 11:41:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1687037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koakuma_tsuri/pseuds/koakuma_tsuri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kevin finally comes home from the IPL and gives Alastair something of a horrible surprise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Velvet Burns

**Author's Note:**

> Headcanon: KP buys a small flat the other side of London so that he and Alastair have somewhere safe to continue their affair.
> 
> Attempting something slightly softcore here... excuse me P:

Alastair doesn’t have Facebook. He doesn’t have Twitter. He definitely doesn’t have Instagram. So he has no idea what Kevin’s done. He scrambles to find the key to the apartment; rushes in to find the lights on and Kevin’s shoes kicked into the corner. His own quickly join them. He shuts the door, thrumming with excitement as he hears footsteps pad closer to him. It’s been far, far too long since they were last together – much longer than just the IPL, but his own stupidity that nearly cost them everything.

He turns just as Kevin pushes him back into the door. An excited little gasp escapes from his mouth, immediately lost into the South African’s mouth. The kiss is consuming and possessive, needy and just about everything that Alastair’s sorely missed. He reaches up, gripping Kevin’s shoulders, and when the man doesn’t move to pick him up like they’ve tried a couple times (occasionally falling in a pile of limbs on the floor which suited them just as fine at the time), he slides those hands up and expects to find spiky hair that’s just long enough to tie his fingers into to direct. Instead he feels something akin to a freshly sheared sheep and pulls backwards sharply. The pain of hitting his head on the door does not numb his shock at seeing Kevin’s lack of hair.

“What?” the South African grunts, frowning and whilst the twist to his lips distorts the barely-kempt goatee he’s grown, it also highlights the muscles of his temples that are not usually so pronounced, so visible.

“You’ve… cut…” Alastair’s a vain creature at heart and can’t help his grimace. He can vividly remember Kevin shaving his head in 2006 and not minding it so much. Maybe it was because Kevin was younger, or maybe it was because  was the death of the black and white abomination that came before it. Maybe it was because he was blinded by unrequited desire.

Seeing how he stares, Kevin rubs his scalp in his usual fashion. He’s not usually self-conscious but has already confessed that sometimes he feels it around his lover. The Captain can still feel that rough, Velcro-like texture against his palm and clenches his fist. “You don’t like it then?”

“In a word?” Alastair tries to smile but it doesn’t really work. One hand raises to scratch at the stubble under his chin before subconsciously slipping back and into his own hair, recently cut shorter, but only the worst of the curls. “No.”

He half expects Kevin to roll out an essay of justification that he won’t care for. He’s not on the subcontinent any more and England is like an icebox in comparison. But the South African just grunts, shrugging and dips his head back in, perfectly angled to steal another kiss. There’s nowhere for Alastair to lean and he’s reluctant to when those lips meet his. They’re just as hungry and in a way, he’s relieved he hasn’t insulted Kevin enough to make him want to leave.

At least with this proximity he can’t see Kevin’s head. And when the man’s tongue plunders his mouth; hands stroking and thumbing his nipples through shirt, he can’t really think of it either. Alastair groans, rolling his head back and groaning with lurid arousal. Pleasure has seemed like a distant memory for much too long. The thrill of satisfaction even further still. The situation around them might have changed, and the setting developed from hotel rooms to this place they can call their own, but Kevin’s still the same man and Alastair feels tuned to him now. His body is some instrument too easy for the batsman to play, and reacts to the simplest touch.

“Kev,” he murmurs, biting his lip as Kevin nibbles down his throat and lingers like he’s desperate to be able to mark him. He feels the itchy but familiar rub of facial hair, along with the occasional rasp of his scalp and it’s distracting. And quickly becomes frustrating because he can’t do as he always does: curl his fingers around Kevin’s skull to pull and push, taking what he wants.

As Kevin pushes the Englishman’s shirt up to his chest and lowers himself down to his knees, Alastair shivers. Head back against the door, he hums as warm lips trace like lines of his abdominal muscles. Just briefly he reflects on the fact there’s only a door separating them from the world and how if they continue here, there’s that nostalgic danger of being heard moaning each other’s name. Neighbours are more likely to tell than their teammates are… but he knows Kevin’s the type to disregard risks.

One of his hands brushes lightly against Kevin’s head, wanting to settle to draw him closer, urging Kevin to fulfil the insinuation of the position. The Captain grunts, fisting that hand and bashing it back against the door. Frustration becomes annoyance because he has to focus on keeping his hands away rather than succumbing to and enjoying the desire that’s raged secretly inside of weeks.

“I can’t—I can’t do this,” he mutters, nearly whining as Kevin nuzzles his erection through his jeans.

When Kevin hums his inquiry it makes him gasp and he knows Kevin only did it to prevent him from stopping. It almost works. Almost, because Alastair’s first instinct was to grab that head to make it continue.

“No, Kev,” he hisses and uses that momentary hold to push the man away.

Kevin catches himself, propped up with one fist in the still-new carpet, scowling up at him. God knows how long since they last had sex and Alastair lets his vanity overcome him. If they reversed positions, he’d be livid.

“I really can’t stand it,” he says softly like it makes it any better. In his own strange way, Kevin’s just as vain, albeit more opinionated when it comes to his own preferences, yet the last thing Alastair wants to do is upset him. “The feel of it, KP… it’s like a sheep.”

That amuses the South African enough that the glower becomes a sneer, which then darkens into something else completely. “Babe,” he purrs and if his intentions are to make the Captain’s spine feel like it’s made from tissue paper then it works. “You don’t have to touch it.”

Opening his mouth to relay his thought process from the last five minutes, Alastair pauses as Kevin stands back up and moves in for another kiss. This is going to be a game for him, finding a way to work past the revulsion; finding a way to reduce the Englishman down to nothing but the being inside that craves sexual repletion.   

Kevin’s long fingers wind around his wrists and pull him down the little corridor that leads to the main section of the apartment and then through that to the bedroom. Alastair sighs at his lover’s bull headedness. He has all but denied consent, yet he still finds himself standing by the bed and Kevin’s fingers on his belt; lips on his ear.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispers as if reading his thoughts.

Alastair rolls his head back and chuckles. He hears Kevin’s smirk and seconds later a hand pushes its way into his underwear and squeezes delightfully tight around his cock. Intent on keeping his hands busy, Alastair pulls off his own shirt. Goosebumps form across his flesh from the open window and the breeze that wavers the curtains, making Kevin’s hand seem all the warmer. He’s happy to press into it, grinding against it and seeing how Kevin’s brown eyes haze over with increasing need.

“No?”

Groaning, Alastair pushes his trousers and boxers down and shimmies until they’re a pile of  black and stonewashed blue at his feet. He slings his arms around Kevin’s neck. His fingertips at the nape of his neck, where the hair was usually short anyway, and drags him in for a vicious and biting kiss. “I can’t tell you what to do anymore, can I?”

Kevin sneers, the lust in his eyes making him look even more like a big cat than normal: far more predatory and in need of asserting dominance that way they’ve missed for a while. He shoves Alastair back onto the mattress. “No, you can’t.”

Whilst he lands with a grunt and feels all the fantastic things he’s felt with Kevin for years and yearned for years before that, as he watches Kevin undress the thought of that lack of hair re-enters his mind and lingers and infects. He doesn’t want it to impede his pleasure and fights back against such musing because his body has this burning physical need… and he knows he wants to let go and not spend effort on concentration.

Kevin grits his teeth when he notices Alastair’s furrowed brow. “On your front,” he says simply and walks, stark-naked and erect, to the bedside cabinet to retrieve the lubricant.

Alastair does as instructed, crawling up the mattress on his hands and knees until he’s comfortable with just enough pillow to rest his head against or bite into when he feels he’s getting too loud. The brand new linens are stiff and almost like paper against his flesh and smell of nothing. Reminiscent of nights spent in different countries, different hotels and it’s like nothing’s changed.

Toes curl in the socks he forgot to remove as Kevin climbs onto the mattress behind him; immediately fitting to his position and bending over his back. Hands slide down his arms, tickling the crease of his elbow just to get another shiver before continuing down. Kevin hums the entire time, kissing his shoulders, like he’s savouring, remembering.

When Kevin grips his wrists tightly, Alastair looks down and finds a ribbon-like length of material in his right hand. “Kevin,” he mutters lowly, eyes narrowing with displeasure. The one time he’d been bound before had almost been too much, driving him to the point he felt he was losing his mind… and then the South African had left him tied to the headboard for an hour and a half whilst he went down to the bar for a few drinks with their teammates.

“You said you don’t want to touch,” Kevin replies so lowly that it’s more like a breath of hot air and the Captain thinks he’s only imagining the words. He watches, completely powerless to his own sexual fantasies that seize control and lets Kevin wrap the ribbon around his wrists. “Now you don’t have the choice.”

At least with his hands only bound together and not to anything, Alastair doesn’t have to panic about being abandoned here. It’s safe, yet the bind is still tight enough to bite into his flesh and feel dangerous. He groans, wriggling his hips, and hopes that Kevin is just as desperate as he is. There’s not even a threat that bubbles up to utter; nothing that won’t backfire anyway. Even if he makes demands, there’s no telling what the batsman will do, now that he’s no longer contractually required to take heed to Alastair’s instruction.

Kevin pulls back up, not quite sitting on his knees, back enough that he can nuzzle and stroke his way down Alastair’s back. It arches inwards as he moves, Alastair pressing his forehead against his fists and sticking his backside out as much as he can. Had he have known Kevin’s plan he wouldn’t have spread his legs so far, giving himself more leverage to control the pace when the time comes.

“Do you remember,” the South African murmurs into the small of his back. Fingers grip tightly to his hips, thumbs massaging the soft, firm skin that curves into his buttocks. “I had you like this the first time?”

Closing his eyes, Alastair does. How timid yet certain Kevin was. Unsure of what to do but so willing to do it. “You’ve come a long way since then,” he grins.

Kevin scoffs: a sound of agreement, but as if he also took the comment as a challenge. Alastair bites his lip, just wondering where this is going but loving the mystery all the same. Sometimes control does get a little boring. “I’ve had a good teacher.”

That bitten lip becomes a fresh smile, a little more genuinely warm than any of its predecessors. Compliments are not rare or hollow between them, but after everything that’s been thrown at them recently, they’re more precious than ever. Alastair doesn’t get to linger on it for long, as Kevin starts to kiss again. Teeth rake down the thin flesh at the base of his spine; stubbly chin pressing between his buttocks and then a tongue swirling ever lower.

With a groan, he presses his head down, just managing to twist his fingers in his own hair in a feeble attempt to release the frustration of being fantastically helpless. A puppet dancing on the slightest of things, driven by the sensation of a tongue teasing too far from where he wants it. Kevin is liberal with his saliva, letting it dribble down, both hot and cold against Alastair’s hole.

Eyes rolling back, Alastair hisses in a breath as Kevin finally reaches that sensitive, pink skin. He feels Kevin smirk, and his hands slide around his buttocks to spread them. The South African pushes closer, more eager to please and earn reactions. Alastair’s never once had to fake his pleasure and that’s a fact he relishes.

“Fuck, Baby,” he moans. Hips move of their own accord, pressing back and shifting restlessly in Kevin’s hold as his tongue explores, tickles and teases. And the man hums; vibrations sent straight down the length of his cock that he wishes he could rub against the smooth bedsheet. “Fuck.”

Kevin sits back on his heels, breaking away with a kiss. He smacks Alastair’s bottom harshly, earning a gasp and smirks. “Such a dirty mouth.”

“Dirty mouth, wet hole: pick which one you’re gonna fill.”

The South African laughs deep in his throat and Alastair feels the mattress shift as he moves to retrieve the lubricant from wherever he had left it. That’s an answer enough, but Kevin’s never been one to turn down an opportunity for his wit. “Tough choice, but you’ll need both hands to blow me.”

“One for the magnifying glass, right?” Alastair beams impishly, glancing over his shoulder to just about see Kevin slicking up his length.

“I can just come on you and leave you here, you know that, right?” he drawls back, an eyebrow raised and lips curved wickedly upwards. Alastair scoffs, knowing that whilst the threat isn’t entirely hollow, Kevin would soon come back and do something.

“I actually dare you to try.”

“One day,” Kevin mutters, He shuffles closer, one hand on his cock to hold it in place and the other planting itself on Alastair’s hip to keep him angled just right.

Alastair grins, wetting his lips as Kevin pushes in. The absolute minimum preparation makes it tight and the pain is thrillingly intense. Just enough to remind him of all the rough and borderline violent times they’ve been together yet nowhere near enough to make him want to stop. Weeks of toys are no substitute to the feel of his lover’s cock sliding slick and hot inside; bringing more than just a physical sensation that makes him moan out Kevin’s name.

The way Kevin presses his cheek between Alastair’s shoulder blades and takes in a breath makes him think that he’s about to say something. Something other than their usual goading and banter and Alastair is glad that he remains silent. Anything profound and meaningful would ruin this; make him want to turn around and kiss him… which would ultimately lead to him touching that again.

“Baby,” the South African simply whispers, lips and facial hair warm and pleasant.

Every thrust is slow and leisurely, deep and perfect. It’s different from before. There’s no teammates in the room next door, or best friends that could interrupt at any point. There’s no threat of wives or sense of urgency because this is the last time they’ll be together until the next tour. Yes, Alastair has to return home in the morning and maybe Kevin won’t even be able to stay the whole night, but they have sight on their future now. And if it’s skulking around London in hats and sunglasses to avoid being seen going into the same building then so be it.

Maybe one day Alastair won’t feel like he has to press his face into the pillow to muffle his cries as the pleasure builds and Kevin reaches around to coax him into coming. Maybe one day Kevin will be able to bite into his shoulder, sucking as hard as his kisses want to be. It’s a fantasy Alastair is eager to lose himself to just as he came here to do. Writhing and clenching his fists so tightly the nails dig into his palms, he finds himself only able to manage single syllables, but they taste the best on his tongue.

He surrenders completely to the pleasure that overcomes him. Forehead pressed into the pillows and biting the heel of his thumb, he comes hard enough that he won’t be surprised if he blacks out.

As he convulses, Kevin kisses the skin behind his ear feverishly, moaning and gasping as the hand the remains on the Englishman’s waist scrambles for purchase.  “Ali,” he groans, finally throwing his head back as he jerks his hips, slamming near-brutally into the tight-grip of his muscles.

They curse in different languages, both panting and laughing. Kevin kisses the nape of Alastair’s neck before falling to the mattress. The dazed grin on his face is so handsome the Captain fails to notice his head. He leans across, awkwardly balanced on his elbows to press a kiss to those moist lips.

“Amazing,”

Kevin moves lazily, reaching to untie the ribbon and slings it back to the bedside cabinet.  “Beautiful,” he says back, just as softly and hooks his arm around Alastair’s neck to draw him down to his sweat-damp chest.

Settling down, the Englishman turns his head up to look at his lover. One hand ventures up with the tentativeness of a child with a snake and rubs his fingertips across the curve of Kevin’s skull to behind his ear, then down his neck and sternum.

“Less of a thing now?” the South African mumbles.

“It’ll grow on me,” Alastair chirps, smiling narrowly as he watches how the lights dance in Kevin’s tired eyes. “but hopefully it’ll grow on you faster.”

 

 


End file.
